


War Changes a Person

by Cattew22



Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Genre: Angst, Could be any character, From point of view of a friend, I'm Bad At Tagging, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner of War, World War II, but it's fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25393099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cattew22/pseuds/Cattew22
Summary: A short poem about one of our Heroes from the viewpoint of their friend. It is mostly about after the war, and it is up to the reader as to which Hero the poem's about. Please read and review.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	War Changes a Person

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction ever, and it sort of just came on a whim, so please be kind. Tell me if you think I made mistakes or if you think of ways I could improve. Also, forgive me as I'm having trouble formatting this thing. Also, totally don't own any of Hogan's Heroes, but it'd be cool if I did.

In that moment, his eyes reminded me of the ocean  
So full of life, and twinkling a light blue  
So I couldn’t bring myself to disagree  
With his youthful excitement at the prospect of joining the Air Force.  
In my heart I was worried, as any friend ought to be,  
As I thought this decision rash and unwise  
But who would I be to distinguish that flame?

The day he left for training is one I’ll never forget,  
All dressed to the nines in his uniform  
He waved goodbye to everyone as he boarded,  
A beaming smile that promised of adventure  
Showing proudly on his face.  
I stood there wishing he was back already.

I remember my heart almost stopped the day we entered the war  
And his letters told us that he was being sent into combat.  
Many days I paced the floor of my apartment thin,  
Waiting for his next letter, to say he was okay and safe.

I remember the day his letters stopped coming   
And his parents and I averted our gazes when we saw each other in public  
Each afraid to voice the possibility  
That the day he left was the last day we’d ever see him.

One day when I got home I was accosted by his parents,  
Who had finally received word of what had happened.  
He and his crew had been shot down over one of the enemy countries  
And taken as a Prisoner of War.  
It wasn’t the best news, but at least he was alive.

Years later the fighting stopped,  
We had won.  
He would come home.

We waited for him at the airport,  
With posters and signs welcoming him back,  
And a huge crowd of relieved friends and family.  
He stepped off the airplane, and we waved him over.  
He grabbed a small suitcase and walked down the ramp  
And started towards us, a tired smile on his face.  
When he got close enough, I could tell  
He just wasn’t the same.

I had never thought about how war would change him,  
Or how that last time I saw him  
Could have been the last time I saw him as I remembered him.  
These had never been possibilities to me,  
Until he came back.

He was given a month to relax –   
Or re-acclimate, as that was really what it was –   
So I had plenty of time to hang out with him.  
But I was caught off guard every time he’d say something  
Or get that look in his eyes that reminded me  
That he had been a soldier in war.

Small things had changed,   
Such as his laugh;  
It was small and hesitant,   
As though he was afraid to be too happy,  
When it used to be able to fill a room up with joy.

Every time we entered a smaller room,  
I noticed his guard went up, and his shoulders tensed,  
And he would become hyper-alert,  
Aware of every small thing.

He nearly took my head off one time,  
When I caught him unawares from behind.  
Where he used to jump slightly and laugh,  
He tensed and his fight-or-flight instinct  
Chose to fight as if his life depended on it.

It frightened me slightly,   
When I would lay awake and think about the changes,  
Because I couldn’t understand how   
A confident young man who laughed at the world   
Could come back so broken and scared.

And when I asked anyone about it,   
I would get the same answer,  
“War changes a person,”  
Every time.

I just find it unfair.  
Because although I may try to find more answers,   
New solutions, or anything concrete,  
I kept coming back to that one phrase.  
And it’s true, no matter how simple it may appear.

War really does change a person.


End file.
